“That’s right. Koji had never seen so many cherry trees in his life. He loved it. Cherry blossoms became a symbol of our happiness.”
“Which, I suppose, is why both your mobile phone straps have a cherry blossom motif? I noticed that Mr. Tachibana had one, too.”
Tamiko’s eyes widened.
“So that’s why you got him to show you his cell phone.”
Kaga nodded.
“It occurred to me when I saw the strap on your cell phone that maybe you were the person for whom Mineko Mitsui planned to buy the chopsticks. It was just a hunch, and I had no proof. If I got you to look at the chopsticks and I was wrong about them, I’d only cause you even more pain. That’s why I went to see Mr. Tachibana first.”
“I thought you were looking at him as a suspect.”
“That the cops were ‘hot on his tail,’ eh? That’s natural enough. Apologize to him from me, please.”
Tamiko took another long look at the chopsticks. They meant that Mineko had forgiven her. She’d planned to give these chopsticks to Koji and her so they could enjoy the memory of the Tokyo cherry blossoms after moving to London.
“Those things I brought around to your place the other day — the passion fruit and sweet almond pastry — Mineko Mitsui tried to buy some just before she was killed,” Kaga said. “I guess she planned to serve them to you at her place, but they were sold out too, unfortunately.”
“Those pastries...”
“It was when the people at the pastry shop told me about her trying to buy them that I realized that Ms. Mitsui probably wanted to mend fences with you. That only made me more determined to pinpoint the person she wanted to give the chopsticks to.”
Wiping the tears away with the back of her hand, Tamiko looked hard at the detective.
“Aren’t you supposed to be investigating her murder, Detective?”
“Oh, I am investigating the murder; of course I am. But my job as a detective should go beyond that. People who’ve been traumatized by a crime are victims, too. Finding ways to comfort them is also part of my job.”
Tamiko lowered her eyes. A single tear dropped onto the hand in which she held the chopsticks.
A wind chime tinkled above her head.
7
The President of the Cleaning Company
1
Koki Kiyose was sitting in an easy chair with a pipe between his teeth and a thick file open on his knees when there was a knock on the door.
“Is that you, Marsh?” asked Koki, forcing himself to sound calm. “Come on in.”
The door opened, and Ikuo Yamada came in, a gray wig on his head.
“I’ve completed the fifth volume of our memoirs, Wike.” Yamada allowed his rich bass voice to resonate as he held out a bound volume.
“It’s finally done, eh? So now we have it — The Full Record of the Murder at the Evil Prince’s Mansion. I remember it so welclass="underline" the tension and the intellectual excitement. All I regret is that I never got to meet the criminal mastermind, who had the pride of a true artist, and—”
“Stop,” someone yelled. It was Shinozuka, the director of the theater company. Koki winced.
“What’s wrong with you, Koki? Your performance is so one-note. Your speech should project the character’s sense of self-worth, tinged with nostalgia for the old days and a soupçon of sadness as the cherry on the cake. I need you to give it more feeling.” The expression on Shinozuka’s face was stern.
“I’m sorry. Let me take another stab at it.”
“No, we’ll take a quick break. There’s something I need to deal with. Okay, everybody,” said Shinozuka to the rest of the staff. “Take ten.”
The tension that had filled the cramped performance space suddenly lifted. Koki could feel himself being drawn back to reality from the make-believe world of the play.
Despite Shinozuka’s having announced a ten-minute break, the rehearsal didn’t resume after the allotted time was up. The director and the lead were in his office having a talk. Maybe talk was not the right word; it was more like a unilateral declaration: since Koki was clearly unable to concentrate on his performance, Shinozuka wanted him to step down.
Koki bowed his head apologetically. He knew the director was right.
“I’m sorry. I promise to do better. I’ll improve my focus.”
“Stop bowing. I don’t want your apologies. I know why you’re having trouble concentrating. For God’s sake, your mother’s been murdered, and the killer’s still out there.”
Koki raised his head and looked Shinozuka in the eye.
“I’ll do it. I’ll find a way to get my concentration back.”
Shinozuka frowned.
“You’re missing the point, Koki. If we could will ourselves to concentrate, then no one would ever be unhappy. I know you’re doing your absolute best, and I have a great deal of respect for your talent. The state you’re in now, though, leaves acting out of the question. That’s my final decision as the director.”
Koki lowered his head again. This time he was not apologizing; he was drooping with disappointment.
“There’s nothing I can do to make you change your mind?”
“Not this time, I’m afraid,” said Shinozuka gently. “The company will need your talents again in the future — of that I’m sure. Right now, it’s impossible. When you’re over what’s happened and can focus on the performance without needing to force it, then I’d love for you to be in a play of mine. As the lead, of course.”
Koki clenched his jaw and looked at Shinozuka.
The director responded with an encouraging nod. “Come back when this business with your mother has been sorted out.”
“Fine,” Koki snapped back.
When Koki spotted the nameplate for Takamachi Consulting Law Office, he wondered how much this was going to cost him. His image of lawyers was one of fat cats rolling in money.
The office was on the third floor. A young female receptionist sat behind a pair of glass doors. Koki timidly pushed his way in and gave her his name.
“I’ve got an appointment with Ms. Takamachi at four o’clock. Nothing to do with anything legal. Just need to ask her a couple of questions...”
“Very good, sir. Please take a seat.”
The receptionist picked up the phone and announced Koki’s arrival. Then, replacing the receiver, she led him down a corridor and asked him to wait in a small meeting room.
The room was tiny, with only a table and a couple of folding metal chairs. Koki sat with his back toward the door. He felt slightly nervous.
He’d wondered what to do with himself after Shinozuka had made him step down. His mother’s murder was weighing heavily on him, but it wasn’t just that the case was unsolved. He’d done nothing for her before that, and now he was dogged by a sense of guilt.
Since leaving home, Koki had been so obsessed with acting that he’d barely given his parents a thought. He’d felt only indifference when they told him about their divorce. They were adults, free to do whatever they darn well wanted. If they’d decided to split up and go their own ways, then so be it. The fact that he was their son didn’t give him the right to interfere. Basically, he just didn’t care.
With Mineko, though, it was a different story. Newly divorced and forced to stand on her own two feet, she must have had to make serious decisions about her job and future. Nonetheless, she’d still been thinking about him, her only son.
She had a reason for moving to a neighborhood with which she had no connection — and it was an important one. It was close to the pastry shop where her son’s girlfriend was working. When she discovered that the girlfriend was pregnant, she wanted to be nearby to keep a friendly eye on her.